


Strangled With Thorns

by chants_de_lune



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Praimfaya | Radiation Wave, Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Political Alliances, lincoln is alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 17:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14085900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chants_de_lune/pseuds/chants_de_lune
Summary: There was a moment of silence, then Bellamy spoke. “What about an alliance through marriage? Such political arrangements were commonly used to settle disputes in the days before the bombs.”The members at the table paused and considered it.  Nia chuckled. “What say you, Indra? You have a daughter, and I have a son.”  Indra took a deep breath and eyed her coolly.“My daughter is a priestess, not a princess.  Her time is needed in Polis, not Ratoga.” Gaia nodded, looking to her mother with renewed gratitude.Roan cocked his head.  “But the Sky People have a princess, do they not?”Clarke raised her eyebrows, feeling Bellamy tense beside her.- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -a s3-s4 divergence in which Roan won the challenge in 3x04,warning for possibly disturbing dialogue (but no marital assault)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stargirlclarke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargirlclarke/gifts).



**_Four months after the destruction of the City of Light_ **

 

_ “Wake up soon, please,” she whispered, her fingers finding Bellamy’s pulse.  Her other hand combed through the damp fringe of his hair. Bellamy let out a groan, opening his eyes.  Clarke was hovering over him, her knee pressing sharply into the wound on his side.  _

 

_ “Ice Nation, they - they,” Bellamy stirred, opening his eyes to find hers.  Clarke pressed his shoulders back against the cot when he tried to rise.  _

 

_ “You passed out on the way back, but you’re stable now.”  Moving her knee and keeping one hand on the rag pressed to the gash, she reached for the suture kit.  “You’re safe,” she murmured, threading a needle. Bellamy turned his head to scan the otherwise empty room.  _

 

_ “Anyone..anyone else-” _

 

_ “You’re the only one who got hurt,” Clarke said softly.   She massaged her fingers over his stomach and Bellamy relaxed as the needle sunk into the dermis.    _

 

_ “We heard shouts… I went out first,” he mumbled, eyes fixed on her hands.  _

 

_ “And got grazed by an arrow for your troubles,” Clarke sighed.  “Must you always take risks, Bellamy?” she asked, her brows furrowed as she stitched the torn skin on his hip, pulling the sides back together.  _

 

_ “Better me than someone else,” he mumbled, grimacing against the pain.    _

 

_ “You shouldn’t say that.  You have people who care about you,” she said, tying off the thread and reaching for the salve.   _

 

_ “Octavia’s not here to care about me,” he said, his eyes lost in thought.  Clarke put her hand on his face, drawing him back to her.  _

 

_ “You’re important, alright? She doesn’t determine that.”  Her hands trembled a little as she rubbed the salve on his stitches. “She’ll come around and see how special you are.”  _

_ Bellamy’s fingers traced along her wrist.  “Clarke...” he whispered.  _

 

_ She shut her eyes, inhaling deeply.   _

 

_ “The bandage, I have to-” she muttered,  her hands fumbling with the roll of fabric.    _

 

_ “I know,” said Bellamy, watching her intently as she wrapped it around his side.    _

 

_ “This could’ve been much worse,” she admitted as she knotted the ends of the fabric, and her hands started to shake again.  This time he caught one of her hands in his, squeezing it gently. Her eyes were beginning to water.  _

 

_ “Princess, why’re you upset?” Bellamy looked at her, running his thumb over her knuckles. “It’s barely more than a scratch.”  Clarke shook her head furiously, tear slipping down her cheek.  _

 

_ “No, if Jackson hadn’t been there, you could’ve died,” she stuttered, shuddering as his hand cupped her face.   _

 

_ “Clarke, that wouldn’t have happened,” Bellamy’s tone was serious, even as his eyes pleaded.   _

_ “And I’d have to… have to go to the peace summit without you, bargain with-”  Bellamy reached up and pulled her into his chest, arm pressed to the small of her back.  Clarke whispered, “I’d have to beg for Arkadia with the people who took you from me.”  _ __   
  


_ Bellamy’s hand rubbed soothing circles on her back as Clarke heaved through a couple sobs.  She caught her breath, letting his heartbeat, synced with the motions of his hand, draw her out of her fears.  _

 

_ “That didn’t happen,” Bellamy said firmly as Clarke sat up again. “I’ll be there in Polis with you, and we will figure this out.”  She nodded, trying her tears as she reached for another damp rag.  _

 

_ “Be careful these next few days,” she murmured as she wiped at a few flecks of dried blood on his face. “We don’t want these stitches to tear because of a minor disagreement.”   _

 

_ Bellamy’s mouth quirked up.  “I’ll behave if Roan does,” he teased.   _

__

_ Clarke smiled, shaking her head as she dried his face.  There was a bruise on Bellamy’s bottom lip that was just beginning to fade.  She palpated it for a few moments, catching Bellamy’s sharp intake of breath.   _

 

_ “Did that hurt?” _

 

_ “No,” he said quietly.  His eyes had grown even darker, though the lamp was bright on the table. Clarke’s heart was beating staccato against her ribs.    _

 

_ “I should go,” she mumbled, but Bellamy’s fingers caught her belt before she stood up.    _

 

_ “Princess,” his voice was soft but it echoed in the silent room.  “We’re been standing on the edge of something,” he breathed, eyes on her lips.  “And we have been for a while.”  _

 

_ The intensity of his gaze was too much for her.  Clarke’s eyes fell to his chest. That was also too much for her.  She stared at the corner of the cot.  _

 

_ “You lost Gina,” she said, feeling guilt claw at her insides.  _

 

_ “I did,” Bellamy nodded.  “And it hurt.” His hand was gentle on her hip.  “But I don’t want to feel hurt anymore.” _

 

_ Clarke leaned in hesitantly, her forehead bumping against his and his curls brushing against her eyebrows.  She could feel the warmth of his breath.  _

 

_ “I loved her, Clarke,” he whispered.  “I wasn’t in love with her.”  _

 

_ A few strands of her hair fell out of place and tickled his face.  He tucked them back in place, thumb on her cheek.  _

 

_ “I love you, Bell,”  Clarke said, closing her eyes.  “I’ve been scared.”  _

 

_ “Of what?” he asked, his eyes as deep as the earth.   _

 

_ “Not being able to protect you,” she said in response, struggling to keep her voice steady.  Bellamy smiled.  _

 

_ “Brave Princess,” his tone was filled with warmth, “you don’t have to protect me, that’s my job.” His hands found her waist.  “All you have to do is-” _

 

_ “Keep you in one piece?” Clarke said, her fingers on the edge of his bandage.  Bellamy grinned, cupping her face.  _

 

_ “Yeah, that works.”  _

 

_ He pulled her in quickly before he lost his nerve, but the kiss was slow and gentle.  Clarke’s hands found his hair, and she let out a little sigh of delight. Bellamy groaned, then he pulled away, rubbing the bruise on his lip.  _

 

_ “Damn it… I’m gonna kick Murphy’s ass before he takes a swipe at me next time,’ he mumbled.  Clarke laughed, switching sides so she could curl up next to him without aggravating the wound.  He wrapped his arm around her tightly.  _

 

_ “Let’s have that drink, after we get back from the summit,” she said.  Bellamy nuzzled her hair.  _

_ “Sounds like a plan.”   _

__

__

* * *

 

__

**_Two days later…._ **

 

“We are gathered here, because this bloody feud between Azgeda and Trikru must come to an end,” said Gaia, surrounded by the table of delegates.  “Because the death of Ontari kom Azgeda, and the destruction of the Commander, has left us with no choice but to commit to a democratic union of tribes.”       

 

“I’m all for negotiation,” rumbled Roan. “But why are members of Skaikru here?” He glared at the part of the table where Clarke, Bellamy, Abby and Kane sat.  

 

“They are moderators,” said Indra.  “Skaikru has suffered equally at the hands of our two clans.” 

 

“I think what my son means,” drawled Nia, “is that none of us wanted the Sky People in the first place.  They killed my Nightblood.” 

 

Clarke found Bellamy’s hand underneath the table and squeezed it. “All we seek is peace, a safe area for us to gather food for our children,” she said, looking evenly around the table. “We are willing to help in any capacity to ensure the safety of our people.” 

 

“Well, that is a quite a noble venture,” said Roan.  “But treaties, exchanges of wealth, gestures of good faith, everything has been tried in the past.  Nothing has succeeded to soothe some -” he looked over to Indra “--deeply-seated animosity in the villages.” 

 

There was a moment of silence, then Bellamy spoke. “What about an alliance through marriage? Such political arrangements were commonly used to settle disputes in the days before the bombs.”  His voice was calm, yet strong and persuasive. Clarke pressed her shoulder closer to his, keeping her eyes fixed ahead. “And with your two houses, as it were, united-” Bellamy said with a small smile.  “You present a stronger threat to any western enemies of the twelve tribes, and aid for each other, if calamity strikes.” 

 

“And what of the villages?” asked Roan.   Bellamy fixed his gaze on him, brow raised. 

 

“Then I suggest you enforce your own laws.”   

 

The members at the table paused and considered it.  Nia chuckled. “What say you, Indra? You have a daughter, and I have a son.”  Indra took a deep breath and eyed her coolly. 

 

“My daughter is a priestess, not a princess.  Her time is needed in Polis, not Ratoga.” Gaia nodded, looking to her mother with renewed gratitude.  

 

Roan cocked his head.  “But the Sky People have a princess, do they not?” 

 

Clarke raised her eyebrows, feeling Bellamy tense beside her. 

 

“The Sky People have two heirs, as a matter of fact,” crowed Nia, her beady eyes glittering.  She smiled cruelly as she glanced from Kane and Abby to Bellamy and Clarke. “Perhaps they will provide the merger that our clans have always needed.”  

 

“What do you mean, your Highness?”  Kane finally interjected, after a pause.  Nia turned to Indra. 

 

“Well, I for one, am not opposed to having Wanheda as my son’s bride.”  

 

Clarke blanched, feeling Bellamy clench his fist in her hand. She looked over to Roan, but his expression was neutral. 

 

“Would you accept Bellamy Blake as a match for your daughter?” asked Nia.  

 

All four delegates from Arkadia drew sharp breaths as Indra’s gaze fell on Bellamy.

 

“Bellamy Blake aided and abetted one of Trikru’s more recent losses,” said Indra, “but I have come to terms with that decision, and its main perpetrator.  I respect the loyalty of his sister. She has vouched for his character, and I see no danger in letting him marry my daughter, if she accepts.” 

 

Abby stood up abruptly. “Are you really asking for Arkadia to give away two of our people, our future leaders, to satisfy your quarrels?” she snapped, eyes blazing.  Kane put his hand on her shoulder, gently easing her back into her seat. 

 

Nia chuckled.  “There does not have to be such marriages, Abigail, but there is no other way to ensure peace.  Trust me, Trikru does not have anything of value to Azgeda except an answer to all the lives they have taken from us.” 

 

“Blood which has been repaid, tenfold,” said Indra icily before sighing.  “But she is right.” 

 

Clarke gulped, finally looking at Bellamy. His eyes found hers for a few moments, his face grim.  Clarke’s heart ached, but all she could see in her head were flashes of all the Arkadians, dead because they were caught in the crossfire. 

_ 18 dead _

**_82 alive_ **

 

“Please forgive me,” she whispered in his ear, leaning in close. Bellamy nodded. Clarke took a deep breath, trying not to shudder. “I accept this agreement, on the terms that all of the land on Arkadia’s borders becomes a safe zone.  There shall be no fighting within 5 miles of our walls.” 

 

A murmur of assent coursed through the group; the scribe began writing on a fresh piece of paper. Bellamy stood up, his hand dropping from Clarke’s. “I accept this agreement, on the terms that any member of Ice Nation or Trikru caught harming an Arkadian within our boundaries is to be given over to us, and punished by our laws.”  His voice was unwavering, though Clarke noticed the sharp clench of his jaw. 

 

The table members looked to Kane and Abby, who grudgingly nodded their support.  

 

“I-I accept the marriage to Bellamy Blake kom Skaikru,” said Gaia, her eyes nervously making contact with his. Bellamy did not say a word.  

 

Then Roan stood up.  “I agree to marry Wanheda,” he said bluntly.  The name made Clarke’s skin crawl, and she swore she  felt Bellamy flinch beside her. Indra had outstretched her hand, ready with pen to sign the contract, but Nia raised her own.  

 

“I ask for one more addendum,” she said, her cruel eyes fixed on Clarke.  “The marriage between Skaikru and Azgeda must result in an heir within the first year.”    

 

Concerned murmuring rose from the ensemble.  Clarke clenched her teeth, staring straight at the Queen.  She felt both Bellamy and Roan looking at her, but she dared not turn to either, afraid of finding righteous anger in Bellamy’s eyes, or worse, desire in Roan’s.  

 

“That seems too insistent, Nia,” said Indra.  “I suggest you retract it.” 

 

“Oh, what other use is there for a marriage? Indra, if you were a  _ real _ monarch,  you would want security in your bloodline.”  

 

Indra’s gaze turned colder.  “I will not force any decision on my daughter concerning her body.” 

 

Nia smiled.  “Well, Wanheda is not my daughter, I have no such qualms.” 

 

Abby tried to stand up, but Clarke put a hand on her shoulder.  “Two years,” said Clarke firmly. 

 

Nia laughed. “No, silly girl. Do not bargain for more than you’re worth.  One year.” 

 

Clarke gulped.  She felt her eyes water, but dared not let any tears spill.  Bellamy’s hand found hers again. “Alright,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even.  “I accept.”

 

Nia seemed pleased, like a spider who had caught a fly in her web.  The contract was passed around for each member to sign. Clarke wrote her name with a shaking hand, looking over to Bellamy.  His eyes were downcast. She felt a lump in her throat. 

 

“Now that the formalities are out of the way,” said Indra.  “I would like to extend my thanks to all of you for attending this meeting.  You are free to use rooms in Polis tonight before traveling. And also, I would like to invite you to my daughter’s wedding,”  she looked at Gaia, “which will happen one week from now.” 

 

Clarke’s eyebrows shot up for a moment, but she understood.  The sooner the bonds were established, the stronger they would hold.  Nia clapped her hands. 

 

“And all of you are invited to _my_ son’s wedding, on the next full moon.  If I’m right, that should be three days after Trikru’s ceremony.” 

 

There was a moment of stillness, then Kane stood up.  “I will meet with Indra and Nia shortly to discuss… details of the upcoming unions. The rest of you are dismissed from this meeting.”  

 

Clarke rose from her seat, looking at her mother.  Abby was still at Kane’s side, her lips set in such a firm line, that Clarke knew she was going to challenge Nia’s wish. 

 

A familiar hand tugged on her wrist. 

“Come on,” said Bellamy. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

Together they left the chamber in silence.  There seemed to be some sort of veil shrouding Clarke, making her hands feel numb and her throat tight.  They reached the room Bellamy had been given that day, and she locked the door behind him. 

 

The veil broke as soon as Clarke sank onto the bed beside him.  Now everything hurt, and tears streamed down her face like a broken dam.  She hugged Bellamy,  _ strong, warm, wonderful Bellamy _ , and realized that he was crying too. 

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said weakly, his tears falling onto her shirt. 

 

Clarke pull back to look at him.  “Why are  _ you _ sorry?” she asked, sweeping her thumbs across his damp cheeks. 

 

“I suggested it.  I gave them the idea, and they manipulated us. I’m so-”  His voice broke again, so Clarke held his face firmly in her hands. 

 

‘No, Bellamy, listen to me.  This is not your fault. I agreed first, and I left you no choice.  It was either both of us or neither of us.” Her voice fell to a whisper.  “This is on me.”

 

Bellamy took a deep breath.  “You got us the safe zone. Kane will make sure they honor that.” 

 

“ _ You _ made sure they’ll honor it,” Clarke said sharply.   When he ducked his head, she pressed her face back into his neck.  

 

“We traded each other for that deal,”  she whispered against his skin. He hugged her even tighter, letting his fingers tangle in her hair, because heaven knows if he would be able to do it again.  

 

They would have sat there all night if a knock had not interrupted them.  Clarke pulled away from Bellamy’s arms and went to the door, him at her back.  They opened it to find Abby. 

 

“There are some changes,” she said, walking in and shutting the door. “It won’t be two separate weddings, just a large ceremony in Polis, beginning of next week.  Indra asks that you spend half your time here and half in Arkadia.” At Bellamy’s nod, Abby turned to Clarke. “Nia wants you in Ratoga full-time, though you’ll be permitted to come to Arkadia once every two months for briefings.”  

 

Clarke exhaled. “How long would my visits be?” 

 

“Three days,” said Abby.  Clarke nodded. 

 

“And Nia’s wish for an heir?” 

 

Abby sighed. “I reminded her that it takes time, not only to become pregnant, but also to recognize the signs.   She’ll give you a year and six months, but-” her expression turned grim. “But if she catches you with contraceptives, you will be hurt.”  

 

Clarke bit her lip letting herself lean into Bellamy for comfort.  His hand found hers again. 

“So you’ll have to take my implant out.” 

 

 Abby nodded, then looked back at Bellamy. “It’s getting late, we have an early start tomorrow.  We should let you get some rest.” She walked toward the door, with Clarke standing bewildered between them.  

 

“Are you sure we can’t-” Clarke glanced at Bellamy, then backwards at the warm bed of furs, at his jacket draped over the bedpost.   Abby shook her head, her eyes sad and understanding. 

 

“We’re so close to establishing that safe zone.  We can’t rock the boat now.” She looked at the two of them.  “But you can have a minute. I’ll be waiting at the end of the hall.”  She left, shutting the door behind her. 

 

Clarke closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, suddenly nauseated.  She felt Bellamy’s hands on her shoulders, rubbing at the tense muscles before drifting down and wrapping around her waist.   

 

“We’ll get through this,” he murmured, echoing words spoken a lifetime ago.  Clarke turned in his arms, her eyes afresh with tears. 

 

“I can’t do this,” she said, pulling away from his chest.  “I can’t hold you like it’s the last time I ever will.” Bellamy shook his head, his eyes open and pleading.  

 

“It won’t be.  I’ll make sure that I’m in Arkadia whenever you visit.”  

 

“So what?” she looked up, her scowl at odds with the tears. “So we can sit and talk and drink, thinking about how we signed away any chance of being happy together?” 

 

Bellamy took a shuddering breath and reached for her hands.  “At least I would see you. I would know that you were safe,”  he said, gripping them tight. “That would make me happy, Clarke.” 

 

Clarke pulled away again and wiped under her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. “Gaia, Gaia is beautiful,” she said, swallowing hard.  “It wouldn’t be difficult to fall in love with her. In fact, I think you got the better end of the bargain,” she let out a watery laugh. “I’d rather marry her than Roan.”  

 

Bellamy clenched his jaw, looking deep into her eyes.  “I can’t be happy, knowing that you’re married to a man who hates you, who’s hurt you before.” 

 

Clarke shut her eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze.  She let her head fall against her chest. 

“Bellamy -” 

 

“Look at me.”  He tilted her chin up with his fingertips. “Married to her or not, I will always lo-”

 

“Don’t say that,” she whispered furiously. “Bellamy, don’t make that vow to me.” 

 

Bellamy shook his head gently.  “I know I shouldn’t. But it’s how I feel. ” 

 

Clarke’s voice caught on a sob.  She wanted to scream at him not to pine and hurt himself, but she knew that moving on would be a hard feat for herself as well.  So she drew him in for one more embrace, then cupped one side of his face. She leaned in to kiss his cheek, but he turned, putting his lips half an inch from hers. 

 

“Please, Clarke,” he said in a voice so low she could barely hear it.   His breath was warm, and his hands were firmly anchored to her hips. Stifling another sob, she closed the space between them, unwilling to deny him one last moment.  He cupped her cheek in a slow, aching kiss, one arm still wound tightly around her waist. Her hands found his curls, revelling in the softness. 

 

Clarke heard a cut off whimper as she pulled away from him, not sure which of them had made it.   She walked backward toward the door, blindly reaching for the handle. 

 

“Goodbye, Bellamy,” she said, eyes committing him to memory; the rumpled hair, his love-bitten mouth, the dark longing in his eyes.  

 

“Goodbye, Clarke,” Bellamy whispered as she left, the door closing between them and anything more that they could have been.  

 

* * *

  
  


The drive back to Arkadia was nothing but cold silence.  Bellamy sat beside Kane in the passenger seat, trying not to look at Clarke through the mirrors.  Kane’s eyes shifted sideways a few times; if there was something he wanted to say, he obviously did not know how to phrase it. 

 

Clarke had said nothing to him when they arrived home, striding to her quarters with her shoulders drawn tight. Bellamy sighed, rubbing his hand over his face and leaving the rover.  He went to the outdoor faucet, letting cold water rinse off the grime from Polis. 

 

“Bellamy!” a voice rang out off to his left.  He turned to see Octavia striding towards him.   

“O, you’re back,” he said, brows furrowed.  She nodded. 

 

“Lincoln and I heard the news from riders out of Polis,”  she took a step closer. “You think these marriages will create peace?” 

 

“Only choice they offered us,”  he said brusquely. “But why do you care?”    

 

“Because these plans affect everyone,” she said.  “Even outsiders.” 

 

Bellamy scoffed. “You mean deserters?”  Octavia sighed. 

 

“I came back for you.”  

 

“You could’ve done that four months ago,” he reminded her.  

 

“I thought you didn’t want me here,” she said quietly.   Bellamy dried his face with his shirt. 

 

“Jury’s still out on that, Octavia,”  he brushed past her. “We’ll talk later.”

 

Bellamy shook his head, heading towards his quarters.  He tossed his pack in the corner, kicked off his boots, and doffed his outerwear. “ _ Marriage _ ,” he thought dazedly, collapsing onto his bed.  Marriage to a beautiful, young woman surely, but one he might not ever love.  

 

“ _ How could you? _ ”  a traitorous voice whispered in his head. “ _ Knowing that the woman you love is being shackled to the monster that kidnapped her _ .” 

 

Shoving his thoughts aside, he pulled a blanket over himself, letting exhaustion pull him under, if only for a couple hours.

 

* * *

 

 

Too soon, Bellamy awoke, his head pounding as he stretched.  A sharp twinge in his side startled him. He cursed; his stitches had been tugged too hard and now there was a small trickle of blood.  Gingerly pulling on his clothes, he walked slowly to medical. 

 

“-Hang on, just a few more minutes.”

 

Bellamy heard Jackson’s voice as he entered the medbay. His heart stuttered at the sight of Clarke, lying prone on the table with her shirt lifted halfway and her head resting in her arms. There was a small set of stitches on her left hip that Jackson was cleaning with an alcohol swab.  A small, titanium capsule was lying on a steel tray beside a scalpel and forceps. 

 

Clarke’s birth control implant. 

 

Taken out so she could further Azgeda’s royal lineage. 

 

Bellamy clenched his fists, anger resurging, but he held back. 

 

“It’ll take some time for your cycle to start up again. You’ll have to check with your mom how many days exactly,” said Jackson, pasting a small bandage on the stitches and adjusting her shirt. 

 

Clarke finally lifted her head as Jackson dug a small, clear bag out of his pocket.  Bellamy squinted at its contents. 

 

“Jackson, what are those pills?” asked Clarke, brow furrowed.  

 

“Progesterone,” said Jackson, lowering his voice slightly.  “Take one within 48 hours.” 

 

“I can’t!” Clarke protested weakly, making Bellamy’s heart do another lurch.  She sat upright on the table. “The Queen, she’ll-” 

 

“We can sew the pills into a pocket, and all you’ll have to do is rip a seam,” said Jackson, his face determined. “You’ve got an 18 month ultimatum, but you still should be able to choose when you’re ready.”  He rubbed his hand over hers comfortingly. 

 

Bellamy wondered how long they had known each other, if they had studied together under Abby Griffin on the the Ark.  He felt a sneeze building in his chest, and before he could stifle it, the noise startled the two. 

 

“My uh.. My stitches ripped,” he muttered lamely, feeling his cheeks flush.  Jackson nodded, reaching for the suture kit. Clarke put a hand on his arm, “It’s okay, I did those stitches, I can fix them.”

 

“Alright,” he replied, leaving and clapping Bellamy on the shoulder.  There was an awkward moment of silence, till Clarke cleared her throat and motioned him over.  Bellamy sat down and lifted up his shirt. 

 

“You okay?” he asked as she pressed a damp cloth to the blood on his hip.  

 

“Yeah, I feel fine. Jackson used local anesthetic, so it’s still a little numb.”   She opened the suture kit and threaded a needle. Her hands were cold from lying on the table, and her demeanor seemed to match.  Bellamy felt his heart sink. 

 

“Where’s your mom?” he probed. “I thought you wanted her to take it out.” 

 

Clarke’s mouth set in a thin line.  “I don’t want to talk about it.” She wove the thread neatly, knitting his torn skin together again. 

 

“Clarke,” he said, tilting his head to the side.  She grimaced once more, then her shoulders settled.  

 

“I told her last night that I should just get it over with the minute we got back to Arkadia,” she said, dabbing his fresh stitches with antiseptic. “And she told me no. Then I said, ‘Mom, it’ll take a week for my cycle to adjust-” Clarke gulped and took a slow breath.  “And I didn’t want Roan to know about it if he tries anything, the night after the ceremony.”

 

Her resigned tone ignited a hot feeling in Bellamy’s chest.  He clasped Clarke’s hands tightly in his. 

“You don’t have to-”

 

“I know,” she cut him off gently.  “But he can get his way if he really wanted to, not to mention the other leverage he has,” she whispered, her eyes focused on their joined hands. 

 

Bellamy clenched his jaw, then he reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a shiv.  He pressed the handle into Clarke’s palm. 

 

“Do you remember what griffins looked like? From the myths?” 

 

Clarke furrowed her brows.  “They’re part lion, part eagle, right?”  

 

Bellamy nodded. “Right. You’re a Griffin.”

He closed her fist over the knife. “Don’t forget that you have claws.”  

 

“And talons,” Clarke added fondly, making him smile.  

 

“Yeah. Your wits are even sharper,” he said, tapping her temple and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. 

 

“Thank you, Bellamy,” she said softly.   

 

He nodded, squeezing her hand and letting go quickly.  

 

“I’m sure Raven will give you another blade, once she finds us,” he said, deflecting from the intimacy.

 

Clarke chuckled.  “I wouldn’t put it past her.” 

 

At that moment, footsteps were heard outside the medbay.  Bellamy got a glimpse of a scarlet jacket. 

 

“Speak of the devil,” he said as Raven entered.  

 

“Abby just filled me in on what’s happened,” she looked at both of them, eyebrow arched. “Care to explain why you two made an idiotic decision? Again?” 

 

Clarke sighed. “To establish a peace treaty.” 

 

“And to try stopping our people from getting killed,” added Bellamy.  Raven nodded. 

 

“She told me as much,” she shifted, putting her weight on her good leg. “This better work.  Because neither of you are as expendable as you think you are.” Her eyes shifted to the knife in Clarke’s hand. 

“You going to use that on the wedding night?” 

 

Clarke shrugged.  “If I have to.” 

 

Raven reached into her pack and pulled out a small, leather sheath with straps.  “See if it fits in that.” She tossed it over. Clarke opened the flap and slid the blade in, quirking an eyebrow.      

 

“Perfect fit,” she mumbled, looking to both of them. “It’s scary how often you two are on the same wavelength.” 

 

Bellamy gave a silent nod of thanks to Raven.  She smiled back, sitting down beside Clarke. 

 

“Hey,” she rubbed Clarke’s shoulder.  “I wasn’t going to let you leave without throwing you a proper bridal shower.” 

Clarke snorted.  “Thanks Raven.” 

 

She lifted her head when she heard scuffling by the door.   

 

Jasper and Monty poked their heads into medbay. 

“Why have a shower when we can throw a party instead?” asked Jasper as Monty hefted two bottles of moonshine.  

 

They walked in, followed by Miller and Harper.  Bellamy’s heart swelled as they clambered onto the nearby cots, forming an intimate huddle in the corner of medical.  Jasper passed around cups, and the first bottle made its rounds. Bellamy caught movement in the corner of his eye; he glanced over to see Lincoln and Octavia hovering by the door.  He nodded at her, expression softening, and they joined the group. 

 

“To Bellamy and Clarke,” Jasper lifted his cup. “Marrying Grounders so we don’t have to.” 

 

A chuckling chorus of “Bellamy and Clarke” echoed as everyone clinked their mugs.  

 

“Don’t knock it till you try it, Jasper,” drawled Murphy from the doorway, Emori at his side.  They crossed into the room and took empty seats beside Monty. Jasper’s face fell, but he shrugged it off quickly.

 

“Here, we brought plenty,” he said, passing them two cups.  

 

“Thanks,” said Murphy, taking a large sip.  “So this is your sending away party, huh?” 

 

Bellamy shrugged.  “I guess so. We head back to Polis tomorrow afternoon.”  His eyes made contact with Clarke’s briefly. The group dropped into an awkward silence.  

 

“Well, most of my get-togethers are not this somber, so I’m gonna liven things up,” said Jasper, downing his drink and refilling it.  “Never have I ever, agreed to a marriage pact.” 

 

A round of laughter swept through the group.  Bellamy’s eyes met Clarke’s again as they took a drink, both sporting sheepish smiles.  

 

“My turn,” said Monty, pondering for a moment. “Never have I ever, taken a soul-searching trek with Chancellor Jaha.”  

 

“Ah fuck you,” mumbled Murphy, sipping from his cup as Emori laughed.  

The game progressed on.  

 

“Never have I ever, gotten caught with weed.” 

 

“Oh very funny, Harper.”  

 

“Never have I ever, not been amazing.” 

 

“Narcissism doesn’t count, Reyes.” 

 

“Never have I ever, slept with a hick named Wick.” 

 

“Shut the fuck up, Octavia.”  

 

The bottles grew lighter, and the laughter grew heavier, peaking at Lincoln’s witty, “Never have I ever, played this game before.”    

 

Bellamy’s turn came quicker than he expected.  He looked around, seeing faces more carefree now than in the past few months.  Clarke’s hand had crept closer to his own. 

“Never have I ever, been surrounded by so many friends.” 

 

An affectionate murmur of “hear hear” went round as everyone drank.  Clarke squeezed his hand as she leaned in closer to the group. 

“Never have I ever, had a family this big.” 

 

More laughter rang out, amongst a couple “copycat” murmurs.  Bellamy saw Clarke’s face fall once everyone took a sip, and his ears caught her slight whisper of “-and I’ll never have this again.”   He held her hand tighter, fingers interlocked. 

 

The game lasted until the bottles ran dry, but conversations continued.  Bellamy yawned as he listened, keeping his comments brief. 

 

When the hour grew late, Jasper stood up, weaving on his feet.  With a mumbled, “goodnight”, Monty and Miller took him by the shoulders and guided him out of medbay.   Harper followed, hugging both Clarke and Bellamy before leaving. Murphy and Emori took off after her, Murphy offering Bellamy a casual salute.   

 

As the room emptied out, Bellamy felt Clarke slump against his shoulder.  

 

“Clarke? Clarke, are you alright?” he shook her awake, trying to remember how many cups she had drank.   When Clarke stirred, Raven got up and swung her arm over her shoulder. 

 

“She’s just tired.  I’ll take her back to her room,” she said, wincing on the last word.  Octavia sprang up and lifted Clarke’s other arm, taking pressure off Raven’s bad leg.  Together they walked her slowly out of medbay, leaving Bellamy and Lincoln alone. For a few moments, they sat in stillness. 

 

“You could’ve gotten up and carried her,” Lincoln said quietly.  Bellamy stared down at his feet. 

  
  


“I wanted to. But if she asked me to stay with her and fall asleep… then I would’ve.  And I can’t do that.” 

 

Lincoln nodded.  “It’s a great sacrifice that you’re-” 

 

“So I’ve been told,” Bellamy cut him off with a snap.  Lincoln raised his hands and then lowered them. 

 

“I knew Gaia, growing up,” he said.  Bellamy raised his head and looked at him.  “She was sweet, innocent. Very quiet, unless she was mouthing off to Indra,” Lincoln continued, chuckling.  

 

“How old is she?” Bellamy asked apprehensively.  

 

“Almost a year younger than Octavia.” 

 

Bellamy winced.  “I’m so sorry, you must feel like she’s your little sister.” 

 

“I can see why you might think that, but Gaia ran off to Polis when she was 12. Had we been closer in age...” Lincoln shrugged, “we might have courted, but I don’t think Indra would have approved.” He shook his head and smiled.

 

Bellamy’s gaze fell back to his hands. 

“I’m still surprised that Indra agreed to this.  After what I did.” 

 

“She knows that she would have made a similar call if she were in your place.”  Lincoln tapped his fingers against his knee. “Had you waited 6 hours, that army would have been under Ontari’s control.”  

 

Bellamy nodded, and for a moment, they said nothing.  

 

“Octavia’s not mad at you anymore,” Lincoln added softly.  

 

Bellamy sighed.  “That’s a relief. I should enjoy it while it lasts.” 

 

Lincoln chuckled harshly.  Bellamy cocked his head. 

 

“Has my sister been treating you right?”  Lincoln looked up at him. 

 

“Yes, she has, but…” he slumped his shoulders. “Octavia has a dark temper.  I worry how prone she is to anger.” 

 

“You can always talk to me, whenever she gets too-” 

 

“I’ll be fine, Bellamy,” Lincoln cut him off  gently, rising from his seat. “You worry about yourself now.  _ Only _ yourself.” 

 

He left Bellamy alone in medbay.  

 

Bellamy sat in silence, contemplating everything until he too, rose and went back to his room. 

Looking at the pack of clothes by the door, he collapsed on his bed, swallowing the lump in his throat as he fell asleep.  

 

* * *

 

The double wedding was a busy affair, with dozens of people milling around, shouting directions to each other in various dialects.  Polis was lost under a vast array of garlands and tents. No sooner had Clarke arrived, that her pack was taken away from her, thrown on a caravan, and she herself ushered into a room.  

 

A steaming tub and handmaidens greeted her in the small tile room.  Clarke recognized the girls as the same ones who had trussed her for the fealty ceremony, so long ago. 

 

**_She will always put her people first.  You should come home to yours._ **

 

If only she had listened to him then, she wouldn’t have had to flee Polis by the skin of her teeth.  

 

Clarke undressed and sank into the hot water, letting it warm her suddenly frigid body. She shut her eyes, letting the girls rub soap and oils into her skin.  

 

As much as she tried to ignore it, her chest tightened with worry for Bellamy.  Was he being prodded and primped for this ritual? 

 

_ He is so guarded with how he lets people touch him, he always covers himself, unless…. _

 

Her thoughts were disturbed by the door opening.  Two more women came in, one of them carrying a garment.  

 

Clarke raised her eyebrows.  “My wedding dress is black?” 

 

The woman nodded.  “Azgeda custom. Traditionally, this would be armor, but the ceremony is for peace.” 

 

One of the maidens wrapped Clarke in a towel as she rose from the tub.  They fitted her in the dress, and one deftly plaited her hair into a braided crown.  

 

“Are you going to paint my face again?” she asked.  One girl with a T-shaped scar on her cheek drew out a tube of red pigment and applied it to Clarke’s lips, following it with a sand-colored face powder.   

 

Clarke looked into the mirror they offered her.  Her appearance was demure, save for her startlingly scarlet mouth.  “It is a beautiful color,” she said. 

 

The scarred girl put a hand on Clarke’s shoulder.  

“Red lips are a sign of fertility, red like the blood of childbirth.  It is Queen Nia’s wish that Ice Nation’s royal blood will flow through you.” 

 

Whatever temporary relaxation Clarke had at that moment vanished.  A shiver crept down her spine as she stood up and rummaged through the pile of her clothes.  Finding Raven’s sheath, she opened the flap, breathing a sign of relief when she saw the handle of Bellamy’s knife.  

 

**_You’re a Griffin. Don’t forget that you have claws._ **

 

She reached into the gown’s leg slit and attached the sheath to her inner thigh.  She looked up to find surprised faces. 

 

“It’s good that you were carrying that on you.  Someone might have searched your pack and thrown it away,” said the maid who had braided her hair.  

 

“Wise,” mumurred one of the older women, “but it won’t save you forever.” 

 

Clarke straightened her gown, put on the sandals they gave her, and rolled her shoulders. “It’ll buy me enough time.”  

 

_ “To do what!?”  _ an anxious voice in her head screamed, but she had no answer for it yet.    
  


 

Another  knock came at the door, and it swung open to reveal Echo. 

 

“I’m here to escot Wanheda to the ceremony.” 

 

“She’s almost ready,” said one of the attendants, forcing two black studs through the nearly-sealed holes in Clarke’s ears.  Biting back a yelp, Clarke glared at Echo as she moved from her seat. 

 

They left after a quick murmur of thanks to the maidens, walking down a long hallway. 

 

“It is interesting, how things turned out,” said Echo, breaking the silence. “Convenient for some, I suppose.” 

 

“How so?” asked Clarke. Echo shrugged her shoulders. 

 

“Trikru could have chosen another for you. And since Ontari is gone,  _ I  _ might have been the one marrying Bellamy.”  Her tone was flippant, but there was a certain goading smile on her face. 

 

“You have no royal blood,” said Clarke, smiling as Echo scowled. 

 

“I have shown the Queen my loyalty over and over, had I been at that meeting-”

 

“Oh what?” Clarke scoffed, rounding on her.  “Who do you envy, Echo? Gaia for marrying him?”  She took a step closer.  “Or me, for being the woman he loves?” 

 

“You’re full of yourself,” spat Echo.  Clarke raised her eyebrows. 

 

“Call me whatever you want.  I don’t know why a spy would want to be at a peace conference. But I do know how Nia liked to carry you and Ontari around like aces up her sleeve. I’d wager that you and her were cut from the same cloth.”  Her eyes narrowed. “And I know what Ontari did to Murphy once she had an ounce of control.” 

 

Clarke grabbed Echo’s wrist hard, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper.  “If you think for a moment that I would let you touch Bell-”

 

“Oh please,” Echo smirked.  “Tell everyone how you would have killed me.”  Her footsteps stopped. “We’ve arrived.” 

 

Clarke blinked, and indeed they had reached the doors to the throne room.  Echo shook Clarke’s death grip off her wrist. 

“See you later, your  _ Highness _ ,” she said. “Oh, and I’m sorry about you and Bellamy,” her voice dropped low, “you would have been nearly perfect for each other.” 

She left Clarke standing alone outside the heavy wooden doors.

 

Another door from the opposite hallway opened, and Gaia walking in, resplendent in a flowing green gown.  Her hair had been taken out of its locs and plaited into a long, elegant braid that ran down past her shoulders.  

 

“You are beautiful,” said Clarke.  

 

Gaia nodded.  “As are you.” 

 

They faced the doors as a drum was hit from within the chamber. 

 

“These doors will open any moment,” said Gaia, turning to Clarke. “Tell me something about my husband, about Bellamy.”  She let out a sigh. “I do not know if I can make him happy, but I would like him to be content.” 

 

Clarke clenched her trembling hands together.  “He likes books. History, mythology, astronomy, whatever you can find.”  

 

She took a deep breath before continuing.    

 

“He is a man of honor.  He will not touch you unless you initiate it, he will stop if he senses any hesitance.  And if he-” her voice shuddered as she lifted her head to stop a traitorous tear from falling. “If he shoulders too much guilt, please tell him that he is a hero to Arkadia, that he’s an inspiration, a good leader-” 

 

Her words were cut off as the doors opened with a slow creak.  She and Gaia took one last look at each other before stepping forward, matching their strikes as they came closer to where Roan and Bellamy were waiting.  Roan’s garments were black like hers, whereas Bellamy had been given a loose white shirt with a navy waistcoat. 

 

He watched both of them step forward, while Roan kept a constant stare at the floor.  

 

And when Roan stepped between her and Bellamy, blocking him from her view, Clarke shut her eyes and let the monotonous ceremony roll over her. 

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath of the wedding

_Bellamy felt his heart pound as the doors opened. A quick glance to his side revealed what he expected;_

_Roan was completely uninterested.  Bellamy looked forward respectfully at his bride._

 

**_“You should be marrying_ ** **_her_ ** **_instead, without this ridiculous garb, away from this horrible place,”_ ** _said a small voice in his head, perhaps belonging to his heart.  Bellamy shut his eyes, willing it away._

 

_Before the young women were in earshot, Roan leaned into Bellamy. “I promise, I have no intention of hurting her,” he whispered._

 

_Bellamy nodded.  “Good,” he said gravelly, “because I’ll shoot you again if that happens.”_

 

_Roan huffed, but before he could response, the brides were standing next to them.  The balding minister told Roan and Bellamy to stand back to back. He caught one glimpse of Clarke’s face before turning to see Gaia, and the rest of the ceremony was a blur._

 

* * *

 

_One hour later…_

 

The reception was much more tolerable to Bellamy. His gaze landed fondly on Jasper whooping as he drank with a girl from Indra’s clan.  The air was thick with aromas of sizzling meats, fresh breads, and sweet wines. A drum beat thumped underneath the buzz of chatter and chanting.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” asked Gaia, appearing at his side.  Her eyes were bright, her expression carefree.

 

Bellamy managed a smile.  “It’s not bad.” Gaia grinned, tipping her empty glass at him before walking towards the food tables.   

 

Another figure bumped into him.  He turned, and to his surprise, Clarke was standing there.

“Sorry,” she said, then raised her voice louder to be heard over the crowd.  “I’m having trouble finding people to talk to.”

 

Bellamy let out a soft chuckle, then noticed her jewelry.  “You have earrings?”

 

“What?” asked Clarke, cupping a hand behind her ear.  Bellamy stepped closer.

 

“You’re wearing earrings.  You haven’t since the day we landed on Earth.”  

Clarke’s eyes widened as she rubbed one of the studs.

 

“Oh, yeah.  They wanted me to wear them,” she looked at him curiously, “I didn’t think that you’d remember that about me.”

 

In truth, there were a lot of small details he remembers about her, before Earth dragged them through misery.  He remembers how he would find her in camp by scanning the crowd, always catching on her gleaming hair, full of sunlight.  How her eyes alone could leave him momentarily stunned. He remembers how he had grabbed her wrist that second day; the first time cruel, taunting, and the second time different but equally forceful.  

 

Defying gravity.

 

And though his mind had weighed the pros and cons of letting his fingers slip, instinct had welded his hand to hers, as if chanting “ _save her, save her_.”

 

That instinct still clung to him.  

 

“You alright?” asked Clarke, shaking him from his thoughts.  

 

“Uh, yeah,” he clinked glasses with her, “I should, I should probably go talk to-” his voice trailed off as he stumbled away from her.  The environment was making his head spin, and the gritty alcohol was not proving to be much of an aid.

 

“There you are, Mr. Blake!” Nia clapped him on the shoulder, her nails digging into his skin through the waistcoat. Sitting down at the summit, she had not seemed taller than him.  Now she was towering over him, half a head higher if not more.

 

 “I would like to offer my gratitude to you for cooperating with this arrangement.” Her tone made a shiver run down Bellamy’s spine. “Now, if everyone just does what they’re supposed to, we should not have any accidents, I think.”

 

Her gaze fell on Clarke, yards away and talking amiably to Lincoln, before landing back on Bellamy.  He nodded, swallowing hard as she walked away. The anxious feeling in his chest doubled. 

“You alright?” asked a voice as another hand touched his shoulder. It was Miller, his eyes filled with concern.  Bellamy shook his head.

 

“I’m fine, I’m-” his chest felt tight as he stumbled again.  Miller caught him, anchoring Bellamy to his side.

 

“I think the music’s too much for you, too many people.  Go relax in your room. You’ve earned it.”

 

“No, I can’t leave Gaia here alone,” Bellamy protested.  He looked into the dancing crowd and found her spinning amongst a few of her peers, arms outstretched.

 

“Then I’ll tell Indra where you’re going,” said Miller, pulling him away from the crowd.  Indra was seated at a small table when they approached.

 

“Mr. Blake,” she said, looking up from her conversation. “I hope you have been enjoying the celebrations.”

 

“I’m afraid not, Indra, I’m not feeling well.  Can you show me to the… the room I’m staying in?”

 

Indra frowned.    “Yes, your face is rather pale.” She pointed off to one of the nearby buildings.  “Your bridal chamber is on the first floor, second door past the entrance.”

 

Bellamy thanked her, then added, “Please tell Gaia where I am.”

 

Indra nodded.  “I’ll let her know that you’re waiting.” With that, she turned back to her conversation.  

Miller patted Bellamy on the chest.  

“Are you able to walk over there?”

 

Bellamy nodded.  “Yes, thanks Miller,” he drew him in for a brief hug, “for everything.”

 

“Hey,” Miller put his hands firmly on Bellamy’s shoulders. “Don’t lose hope.  This might not-”

 

“Might not be what? Permanent?” Bellamy scowled.  “No, it is. That was the intention so we could make this place safe for our people,” he said dryly, giving Miller one last remorseful look.  

 

Bellamy walked off, ignoring taunts and protests. The oak door was heavy but he managed to pull it open and slip into the inner hallway.

 

His chamber was elegant, covered with enough candles to give the room gentle light.  The bed was fairly large, covered in fresh, clean furs. There was a chest at the foot of it.  Bellamy opened the lid to find clothes for him and Gaia. His eyes flickered to the small package lying at the foot of the bed.  Unwrapping it, he saw a leather-bound tome with a note attached.

 

_I’m told you like to read, Husband._

 

He smiled despite the pounding in his head, moving the book to the nightstand.  As much as he would love to open the front cover, the migraine was battering his brain into rest.  Doffing all but his underwear, he pulled a soft shirt from the chest of clothes and laid down for sleep.  

 

Bellamy was not sure how much time had passed when he heard the door creak.  Gaia’s footsteps were soft as she went to lift the lid of the chest and draw out a nightgown.  Bellamy turned his head away, face ensconced in the pillow.

 

Gaia saw his movement and laughed gently.

“So shy on your wedding night, Bellamy Blake?”

 

Bellamy huffed.

 

“I don’t make a habit of staring at people while they undress.”

 

He felt Gaia sit down next to him, the soft silky brush of her gown against his leg. He turned to her, seeing that she had washed off her makeup and had wrapped a scarf around her hair.  

 

“I’m sorry that you did not enjoy the reception,” she said.  Her dark eyes, reflecting glints of candlelight, were fixed steadily on his.  

 

Bellamy shrugged.  “It is not your fault.  I’m glad that I saw you dancing.”

 

Gaia’s smile grew.  

“Really?”

 

Bellamy nodded, a smaller smile on his face.  

“You looked very happy.”

 

Gaia raised an eyebrow.

“The night is not over yet,” she said, placing a hand on his arm.  “You left so early, you must have wanted something else.”

 

Sensing the tentative question, Bellamy pulled away, smile fading.  

“Rest is what I wanted.  Gaia, I-”

 

“I know you’re an honorable man.  I’m telling you that it’s alright,” she said in a soft voice.  

 

Bellamy let out a harsh breath. “‘Alright’ is not enough for me, there’s nothing I expect of you.  I will not touch you unless it’s what you want.” His brow creased. “Do you?”

 

Gaia’s eyes swept across his shoulders. “I’m not often attracted to men, you should consider yourself honored.”

 

Bellamy snorted, raising his eyebrows. “Thanks.”

 

“I’ll kiss you,”  Gaia shrugged, “and if I enjoy it, I can go further.”  Her hand reached out to the space between them.  “What about you?”

 

Bellamy stiffened, looking away for a moment before returning his gaze.  

“You’re too young for me to feel comfortable with touch-”

 

“I’m not a child!” said Gaia defensively, sitting up.

 

“You’re younger than my sister,” Bellamy replied, jaw tightening.

 

Gaia paused for a moment, then cocked her head.  

“Clarke Griffin is barely more than a year older than me.”

 

Bellamy scrubbed his hand over his face.  

 

“It’s different.  She’s my partner. Was my partner,” he corrected himself.

 

Gaia nodded, unsurprised.  

“You still agreed to this, despite loving her?”

 

Bellamy’s eyes dropped from hers as he propped himself higher on his forearms.      

“We had to stop the Ice Nation. They’ve taken too much from us.”

 

Gaia’s hand found his, and he did not flinch as she squeezed it.

“I won’t ask anything of you behind closed doors, Bellamy Blake,” she whispered, her eyes burning into his.  “But whenever we are in public, we should act like we’ve grown fond of each other.”

 

Bellamy nodded. “I can do that, Gaia.  I want this alliance.” He shifted onto his side.  “As your husband, I’ll give you support,” he shut his eyes as he chastely kissed her hand, “and fidelity.”

 

Gaia’s brows furrowed. “I never asked you for that.”

 

Bellamy felt his heart clench as he spoke.   “I’ll give it to you regardless. As a wife, you deserve it.”

 

Gaia smiled warmly, squeezing his hand again.  “And I’ll give you the same.”

 

She rolled over and fluffed the pillow under her cheek. Bellamy exhaled, turning and resting his head as well.  A few moments passed before he felt Gaia shifting closer, her back now aligned with his.

 

“Cold?” he asked in a whisper.  

 

“These chambers are old and drafty,” she said in response. “Your warmth is appreciated.”

 

“Of course, I forgot that the candles and blankets are just decorations,” he said dryly.

Gaia laughed, warm and bubbly against the dull roar of the ongoing party.

 

Bellamy smiled as he fell asleep.  Gaia’s laugh was perhaps the prettiest sound he had found in all of Polis; he would not mind hearing it again.  

* * *

 

Clarke walked aimlessly amongst the lingering partygoers, her buzz fading in the late hour. A clawlike hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder, whirling her back.

 

“My dear, you’ve had a long day,” said Nia, looming over Clarke with a saccharine smile on her face. “You don’t have to stay any longer.”  

 

She pointed Clarke in the direction of Roan, who was talking to one of his men. “I think you two should run off and have a pleasant night.”  Nia gripped her shoulder tighter, and Clarke tried to keep from shuddering.

 

“Yes, your Highness,” she managed to say as the Queen released her and sauntered off.  Clarke clenched her hands, steeling herself as she paced toward Roan. He looked to her as his soldier left, the faint smile vanishing from his face.   

“Yes?” he asked bluntly.

 

“It’s rather late,” Clarke said, shrugging.  “If you rather I go alone-”

 

“No,” Roan rose from his chair, pointing to the fourth building. “Our chamber is in there.”

 

Clarke scanned the crowd, but Bellamy and Gaia were gone.  Roan put his hand on her back as a few drunken jeers were flung their way.  Though far above her waist, Clarke flinched as Roan’s fingers touched her spine.  

 

Once they were inside, he let his hand drop, opening the door to their suite and gesturing for her to enter. Clarke averted her eyes from the large bed in the center of the room, walking instead to a mirror at the far end.

 

As she pulled the pins from her hair, she saw Roan in the glass, doffing his armor behind her.  She took a deep breath, combing the fingers of her right hand through her hair as she let her left hand dangle against her thigh.  When Roan stepped closer, Clarke trembled, left hand inching closer to the slit in her dress.

 

“Shall we get this over with now or later?” Roan grumbled, bare-chested as he reached forward. When his fingers touched her shoulder, Clarke spun quickly pressing the flat of the blade against his hip.

 

“One quarter turn and I can sink this into your femoral artery,” she said in a heated whisper. “Back away, Roan.”

 

He stepped backward, raising his hands to his shoulders. “I shouldn’t be this surprised,” he said with a terse chuckle.  His eyes dropped to the shiv in her hand. “Was that little thing a wedding present from someone?” he asked, eyebrow cocked.  

Clarke did not reply, keeping the blade pointed at him as she reached single-handedly for a nightgown in the chest of drawers underneath the mirror. Roan sighed.

 

“I know Azgeda comes off as bloodthirsty,” his eyes narrowed, “but I do resent the implication that we violate our spouses.”  

 

Clarke scowled, “Oh, I’m sorry.  With the way your mother breathes down my neck about carrying your child, I thought I would need to leave blood on the sheets for her to find.”

 

Roan scoffed. “See, those kinds of barbaric assumptions are what gets your people killed.”

 

Seeing the pain in Clarke’s eyes at the mention of fallen Arkadians, he took a halting breath.

“I didn’t have any part in what my mother asked of you. I tried to convince her in private to retract it,” he said, tone apologetic and lacking heat.  

 

Clarke nodded, slowly putting the knife back in its sheath.  

“But you failed, and she expects an heir within me in 18 months,” she said bluntly.

Roan nodded, reaching for a sleep shirt. “I won’t touch you until we like each other’s company a little bit more, Wanheda.”

 

Clarke’s eyes flared with anger again.  “Do not call me that horrid name.”

 

“It’s who you are,” Roan countered, easily slipping back into a combative tone.

 

“No, it’s a title your people gave me, because I’m nothing but a trophy to them,” Clarke snarled. “Nothing but an animal that _you_ hunted.” 

 

_“_ What else can I say?” Roan growled, his voice abrasive. “Should I call you my princess?”

 

Memories of strong arms and midnight curls caught between her fingertips flickered through her mind as she shook her head.  “No,” she mumbled, “just… call me Clarke.”

 

“Alright, Clarke,” said Roan in monotone, sitting down on the bed.  He turned his back as Clarke switched the wedding dress for the nightgown clutched in her hand. “You can put that needle away,” he said, staring at the floor.  “You have beauty, but I know I won’t crave you until we get along better.”

 

Clarke raised an eyebrow, but left the sheath on as she slid underneath the blanket.

 

“If you don’t want me, perhaps we can work around that, my Lord,” she purred, tone low and considering.  Roan twisted to look at her.

 

“If I take a suitor, your mother will have what she wants in no time,” she continued, arching an eyebrow.  Roan shook his head, scoffing in disgust. “Do not take me for a cuckold. Besides...” his eyes narrowed as he leered at her. “If you give my mother a child with dark hair and dark eyes, she will have Bellamy killed.”

 

Clarke’s eyes watered as Roan turned away from her.  A second memory flashed through her mind.

 

_She was captured by the Ice Nation whose queen believed she knew my secrets. Because she was mine._

_And they tortured her, killed her, cut off her head._

 

Clarke gripped the pillow under her cheek, with almost a foot of space between her and her now-sleeping newlywed husband.  

She touched the sheath on her thigh, grounding herself as tears fell silently onto the sheets.  

 

“This is your life now,” she whispered to herself, “so deal with it.”

 

* * *

 

Bellamy awoke alone the next morning, stretching as light from the window shone in his eyes.  He reached blindly at the nightstand and found a note.

 

_I start every day at dawn in the temple. Come find me at noon.  - Gaia_

 

He dressed and scanned the room.  All his belongings were stacked neatly by the door.  Finding his pistol, he strapped it to his thigh and left the room.

 

The clamor of voices in downtown Polis shook him from the vestiges of sleep.  A group of children bumped into him as they chased each other. He waved at them politely, but some were frowning, wide-eyed as they scampered away.  

 

Bellamy sighed. “A stranger in a strange land,” he mumbled, ducking out of the sun under the shade of an overhang.

 

‘Bellamy!”

 

He twisted his head to see Indra walking towards him. “Good morning, Indra,” he said, nodding his head.   

 

“I hope you’re feeling better.”

 

“I am, thank you.”  Bellamy’s eyes darted to the temple.  

“You will be moving into a room there.  I can ask a friend to help you,” Indra said, following his gaze.  Bellamy nodded.

 

“That won’t be necessary.”  He paused , taking another sweep of the street.  “When did Azgeda leave?”

 

“Before either of us woke up.  They have a long ride back to Ratoga.” Indra’s gaze softened for a moment, then she patted Bellamy’s arm.  “The summer solstice festival will arrive before we know it. In the meantime, I have a job for you.”

 

Bellamy stood up straight.  “What is it?”

 

“As you well know, Trikru’s army was decimated by your deceased Chancellor Pike,” said Indra.  “I have spent the past few months summoning recruits from our farthest borders.” She scowled. “They’re young, Bellamy, most of them completely green and reckless.”  

 

“Why do you want me?” asked Bellamy. “I can’t imagine that they’ve heard many good things about the Sky People.”

 

“You married my daughter, I take that as a sign of dual-allegiance,” she chuckled to herself.  “The concept still exists despite the hostility of the coalition.” She turned back to Bellamy. “But to answer your question, I want you to teach them strategy. I’ve heard stories of how you used traps against Anya’s army to defend your little ship.”

 

“I had help with that,” Bellamy’s brows furrowed.  “Indra, do you think something is coming?”

 

She sighed.  “These last few months have been too quiet.  The skirmishes around Arkadia? They were all hunters, folksmen with grudges. Nia’s army has not been seen since Ontari’s ascension ritual.” Indra grimaced. “She is planning something.”

 

Bellamy’s heart-rate quickened to a nervous tempo.  “How does the alliance figure into this?”

 

“The alliance was to keep the Sky people and their guns satisfied.” Indra shook her head. “I saw the gleam in Nia’s eyes when she found an opportunity to seize the Commander of Death for herself.  That should have been my first sign.”

 

Bellamy swallowed hard.  “Seize?”

 

Indra nodded.  “Nia saw that as a conquest.  She’s high on victory right now, and she will use that confidence soon.”  

 

She looked over to the temple.  Gaia had passed through the door and was walking toward them.  Indra turned back to Bellamy.

 

“We’ll talk more later.”  She pulled him into a somewhat motherly hug.  “Do not tell Gaia these suspicions, I do not want her worrying.”

 

Bellamy nodded.  “I won’t.”

 

Indra stepped away, waving at Gaia before walking across the marketplace.  “I never thought I’d see that,” Gaia said with a smile.

 

“Neither did I,” said Bellamy, expression softening.  

 

  “What was she discussing with you?” she asked. He shrugged.

 

“She wants my help rebuilding the army.”

 

Her eyes brightened. “That’s great, Bellamy!”

 

He smiled back.  “Well, I couldn’t sit around and read books all day, could I?”  

 

Gaia laughed, and Bellamy was struck again by the sweetness of the sound.  

 

“I’m ready to eat, are you?”  She raised her brows expectantly.  He nodded, and then she took his hand in hers.  “Let me show you the best place for kebabs in the whole market.”  

 

So Bellamy, newly appointed captain of the Tree Nation’s army, followed the high priestess of Polis into the sprawling crowd in the capital.  

 

* * *

 

  
“Our home may not be as glamorous as the ridiculous chambers in Polis,” drawled Nia, “but surely it will be a step up from that piece of junk you call a --”

 

“Mother,” Roan cut in.  “I’m sure Clarke will be fine in Ratoga.”

 

Clarke shut her eyes, willing the caravan to finish its travel.  The terrain had been rough, hilly, and a harsh wind chilled her skin.  She pulled a fur tighter around her shoulders, thinking back to her morning.  Awakened after a fitful night of sleep, she had quickly dressed in the clothes Roan tossed to her.

 

_No telling ache, no bloodied sheets, small blessings in this new scary life._

“It would be easier if you trusted me,” Roan said under his breath.  

 

“What?” asked Clarke, jolted from her thoughts.  

 

“I saw how you checked the bed this morning.”  Roan raised his hands for a moment and then let them drop.  “I already gave you my word that I wouldn’t harm you.  When will you believe me?”

 

Clarke stared up at the open stretch of road. “When I’m sure that you aren’t under your mother’s thumb,” she said, leaning into his side.  The gesture could have seemed intimate had it not been for Clarke’s tightly curled fists. She leaned back in her seat, willing herself to fall into a daydream.  

 

_Something happy, the dropship, or the lake they had found that first day._

“I am not controlled by my mother any more than you are controlled by yours,” Roan whispered, disrupting her thoughts again. “Personally, I think beheading is too uncivilized.”  He crossed his arms. “I will end the custom once I am king.”

He said nothing after that, and Clarke shut her eyes, more confused than ever before.  

 

_You might be a decent king someday, Roan.  But I do not want to be your queen._

 

The royal chambers at Ratoga were smaller than Clarke expected.  Most of the building was ancient brick, supported in weak parts by steel beams.  There was a steeple at the top, holding a flaming brazier. Smaller fires were gleaming in many of the windows, the roof coated thinly in snow.  The caravan rolled to a halt, and Clarke steeped out, her muscles cramped with disuse. She reached out for her bag, but Roan handed it off to a nearby attendant.  

 

“You have slaves waiting on you,” Clarke growled, scowling in distaste.  

“Servants, not slaves,” replied Roan, clipped.  “And don’t take the high ground with me,” he added disparagingly.  “Everyone has a system. Even your people.”

 

Clarke imagined Bellamy scoffing at that remark as she followed Roan inside the castle.  The walls were covered with various animal heads mounted on plaques, the floor a cold set of stones.  “We’ve prepared a room for you. My mother may be heartless, but she is not forcing us to share a chamber.”

 

The unspoken “yet” hung in the air as they ascended a staircase.  The rooms on this floor were similar to those in Polis, even more rustic with open-lattice ceilings and burlap curtains.  Roan opened the door to one of the chambers and gestured inside.

 

“We will be having a meal shortly,” he said.  “Make yourself comfortable.”

Clarke nodded, and he left with the door left ajar.  Clarke sighed, shrugging off her jacket and laying it on the bed beside her pack.  She unlaced her boots and replaced them with a pair of soft slippers, a parting gift from Abby.

 

A gentle knock on the door drew her attention.  “I’m Mika,” said a soft voice. Clarke turned as a young woman walked into the room.  “Prince Roan has appointed me to see if you are in need of anything.”

 

Clarke shook her head.  “I don’t need a servant.”  Mika shrugged.

 

“I’m the maid to anyone who stays in this chamber. I used to wait on Ontari.”

 

Clarke felt something heavy sink into her stomach. “I’m sorry.”  

 

“Don’t be,” Mika smiled.  “She was not a kindly girl to the servants.”

 

Clarke’s brows furrowed.  “Why stay? Does Nia force you to work for her?”

 

“My family is indebted to the crown,” said Mika, a little too quickly.  “And I’m better treated here than if I were-” She cut off her train of thought.  “Is there anything I can get you, your Highness?”

 

Clarke swallowed thickly at hearing that title. “No Mika, I am fine.”

 

Mika leaned in closer.  “If you ever want to hide from Roan, there’s a secret passage between this room and my chamber.”  She tilted her head towards the wardrobe next to the fireplace.  “And he is too tall and broad to fit through either door.”  

Clarke nodded gratefully, her eyes fixed on Mika’s face. There were freckles scattered across her nose and cheekbones, her dark brown hair framed her face in gentle curls, matching her soft eyes.

 

Mika tilted her head. “Why do you look at me like that?”

 

Clarke dropped her gaze. “Sorry,” she mumbled, beginning to unpack her clothes.  “You remind me of someone I left in Arkadia.”

 

Mika furrowed her brows. “Who?”  

 

Clarke sighed. “My… my partner.”

 

Mika did not probe further.  “I see your heart is full of sorrow.”

 

Clarke felt her hands twitch.  “As of right now, I will only see him at festivals, briefings every two months.”  She stared out the window. Snowflakes were falling. “I wish I could keep contact with him.”

 

Mika put a hand on her shoulder.  “My brother does the mail run. I could have him smuggle letters to your beloved without the Queen or Roan knowing.”

 

Clarke’s eyes widened.  “That’s dangerous. If you were caught-”  Mika shook her head.

 

“I’ve been hiding secrets from the royals for years. And if you…” she stared at the ground for a moment.  “Pardon me saying this, your Highness, but if you are visibly miserable here, they will find a way to punish me for it.”  

 

Clarke nodded, exhaling loudly.  “Keeping in touch with him would help me immensely.”  

 

Mika’s eyes started sparkling. “There’s paper and ink in your nightstand.  I’ll tell my brother to hide any letters addressed to you and then give them to me.”  

 

She rose, clasping Clarke’s hand for a brief moment, and slipped away through the door.  

 

Clarke reached for the pen and paper.   Putting her name on the outside would be a mistake.  A codename came quickly to mind; one only Bellamy would know.

 

She began writing.

  


_My dear Bellamy,_

 

_If you are reading this, then that means my friends within Ratoga’s walls are to be trusted.  Do not worry for me, I am not alone here._

_Roan is not the barbarian we first met him as.  His reinstatement as Prince makes him a cautious thinker, not a brute.  Nia, on the other hand, is a force who makes me wary. I will be attending her council meeting tomorrow, and I will tell you of any troubling news I hear.  She strikes me as someone whose pieces have not entirely fallen into place yet._

 

_I am desperate to hear how you are adjusting to Polis, and how things are back home, with our friends.  Remember, we are doing this for the 36 survivors of the Dropship expedition. Though in retrospect, we were unwilling lab rats in a suicide mission._

 

_Please write back to me, Bellamy.  And use a codename like I have with your letter, lest your words fall into the wrong hands._

 

_You are and always will be, my most loved confidant._

 

_Clarke Griffin_

 

* * *

  


 

  
  


 

  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooookay 
> 
> so.... here's the thing
> 
> I posted this a year ago, and then a lot of college happened, among other things.  
> Something personal hit me which changed how I felt about how I was going to end this story.  
> Since then I've been fine with it, but .... my thesis was last autumn.
> 
> So this chapter is not as long as the other one, but it gets the job done.  
> And if I don't post it tonight, it'll get buried by all the other papers I have to write this semester. 
> 
> So just enjoy the angst and expect a better chapter in a couple months, we cool? 
> 
> Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> So my friend Alyssa hits me up ages ago with the prompt "they get married to other people" and here is the result. Enjoy, hit kudos, and add comments - no feedback, no new chapter ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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